


A Marriage Of Two Minds: The Kettle and The Pot

by Browneyesparker



Series: A Marriage Of Two Minds [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), The Mentalist
Genre: F/M, Fighting, Friendship, General
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-05-10
Updated: 2014-05-10
Packaged: 2018-01-24 06:51:31
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,785
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1595615
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Browneyesparker/pseuds/Browneyesparker
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>“He’s just being stupid about his wife,” Jane answered. “It’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about.” “Isn’t that like the pot calling the kettle back?” Lisbon mused as she took a sip of her drink. Sherlolly/Jisbon if you squint. Part of A Marriage of Two Minds verse.</p>
            </blockquote>





	A Marriage Of Two Minds: The Kettle and The Pot

.

“You’re calling me out on ignoring my feelings?” Sherlock asked incredulously. “While you lie there behind the woman you love more than anything or anybody else in this world, pining away for her and punishing yourself for sins you didn’t commit!? And you know the stupidest thing of all is that she loves you too. I’ve had to listen to her singing absurd old songs under her breath all morning.”

“I don’t see what that has to do with anything!” Jane replied, sitting up and glaring at his friend. “So, she sings old songs under her breath. It doesn’t have a thing to do with whether or not she loves me.”

“Oh! It has everything to do with it Patrick!” Sherlock retorted. “You’re the standards, she’s top 40. But she listens to the standards station because you like it.”

“She doesn’t always listen to the standards. .” 

“And I’m sure if you got in your car, you’d have the top 40’s station playing. Why anybody would listen to those songs, I have no idea. It’s drivel, really. But you do it because she listens to it and you’re always hoping for the off chance that she’ll wind up in the car with you. She plays the standards because she hopes you’ll wind up in the car with her.”

“You’re so busy figuring out everybody else’s life, you can’t see what’s right in front of your eyes!” Jane snapped. “You’re in love with your wife.”

“Oh get off it!”

“Too afraid to face the truth?”

“No!” Sherlock answered. “If there was any truth to your statement, I would have no problem facing it. The truth is, I really don’t have feelings for anybody, it’s a waste of time and energy. The truth is you are the type to have feelings for somebody else. You’re the one who’s afraid to face it!”

Jane narrowed his eyes. “Would you be quiet? Lisbon could show up any minute and hear us!”

“I’ll gladly tell her what you’re too afraid to say!” Sherlock said. 

“Concentrate on your own problems!” Jane snapped. “You’re going to be facing an annulment when you get home, you know. You say you don’t have feelings, that they’re just a waste of time and energy. But you’re lying to yourself. You’re human just like everybody else is and having feelings is part of the normal human experience!”

“Well, if you don’t say something then she’ll leave you! You escaped it the last time with that agent in the art department, but you never know what can happen. The offer can be exactly right and then you’ll be all alone.”

It was a carefully aimed barb, a statement that lit up Jane’s fears in vibrant Technicolor; Sherlock knew exactly the right buttons to push. But he could hit him right back, the English man wasn’t the only one who read people for a living. 

He opened his mouth to reply but his petite brunette was coming off the elevator and heading towards him. He sighed and fell back on the couch, signaling the end of the argument. 

“Hey Jane,” Lisbon said, smiling brilliantly at him. 

“Hello,” Jane answered, sitting up abruptly. “I’ll go and get you some coffee. Okay?” 

“Sure. . .” Lisbon replied, not noticing the way Sherlock was rolling his eyes at their exchange as she turned to look at him. “I got Molly to the airport; she said she’d be in touch when she landed. I’ll let you know how it goes, okay?”

“Do whatever you want,” Sherlock said coldly. “It really has no consequence to me.”

“She’s still your wife,” Lisbon reminded him as Jane appeared at her elbow and handed her a steaming mug of coffee. “And you still care about her. I know you do.”

Jane waited for Sherlock to make his usual comeback about how feelings were a waste of time and energy. But thankfully he spared his sweet Lisbon the harsh words and went to the break room to get himself something to drink.

“So,” Lisbon said turning and looking up at him. “You two were having a pretty heated discussion when I came in. What’s going on?”

“He’s just being stupid about his wife,” Jane answered. “It’s nothing to worry your pretty little head about.”

“Isn’t that like the pot calling the kettle back?” Lisbon mused as she took a sip of her drink.

“Excuse me?” Jane asked, looking at her.

“Oh nothing. . .” Lisbon answered innocently as she lowered her mug and smiled at him again. “I really hope that he and Molly work things out. It’s such a shame to end a marriage, don’t you think?”

“I guess it would depend on the circumstances. But in this case, I’d have to agree with you. It would be a shame to end their marriage. But he’s so stubborn; he’ll never admit that he’s wrong. He’ll just give her an annulment and move on like nothing ever happened.”

Sherlock returned after that and Jane clammed up, moving away from Lisbon and going back to his couch. 

“I’m going back to England,” he announced. “It looks like you’ve got a handle on things here and I really need to get back to my workload there.”

“Yes,” Jane said dryly. “Go, go. I’m sure that Scotland Yard is withering away without your services.”

Sherlock narrowed his eyes at his friend but didn’t reply. There was no need to; he had said everything that had needed to be said. He had said everything that he had wanted to say, anything else would be completely unhelpful or counter-productive. Besides, there was no need to put Lisbon in an awkward situation. After all, she was just a victim of circumstance. . . waiting around for a stubborn man to get his act together and tell her how he felt. 

He swallowed a mouthful of coffee and lifted his chin. “As a matter of fact, Lestrade texted me this morning and asked me to hurry home. He’s reached a dead end on a case and he is in dire need of my expertise.”

It was a lie, naturally. But he didn’t want to spend another second in Patrick Jane’s condescending presence. He was sure that if he did, there would just be more lectures and unsolicited advice. His marriage with Molly wasn’t any of the American’s concern.

His relationship with Agent Lisbon isn’t any of your concern; a small voice that sounded a lot like Molly’s said. 

Besides, you’re just angry that he’s right! A voice that sounded both like Mary and John chimed in. You do love Molly Hooper. But you’re so used to shelving your feelings; you don’t know what to do with them. 

“We hope you come back again,” Lisbon said generously, interjecting into his messy thoughts. “It’s been a real pleasure to work with you. To see different methods from another person with Jane’s same set of skills.”

Sherlock glanced at Jane. “Thank you Agent Lisbon, you are too kind. But there’s only room enough for one consultant on a team. I hate to cramp Jane’s style.”

“You didn’t cramp my style,” Jane said wearily. “Besides, since when do you hate cramping anybody’s style?”

Sherlock shrugged, he had a valid point. He didn’t really care whose life he intruded on, especially when John and Molly weren’t around to keep him in line. But it was a moot point when they weren’t around and he was still angry with the older gentleman, so he wasn’t about to agree with him.

“When are you leaving?” Lisbon asked, trying to defuse the situation quickly.

“As soon as I can get a ticket out of here,” Sherlock answered. “As soon as there are enough days between Molly’s departures so she doesn’t think I’m running after her.”

“But isn’t that what you’re doing?” Jane asked, smirking at him.

No. . . Mycroft answered in his head. No, that’s not what he’s doing at all. He’s running away from the truth again, he’s running away from you because you make him face the truth.

.

Sherlock spent his last two days as far away from Patrick Jane and Teresa Lisbon as possible. 

He got a voice message from Lisbon that said Molly had arrived in England in one piece and that Jane hadn’t really meant to stirrup any trouble, but Sherlock ignored it. He didn’t really care about what his friend had been trying to do or not trying to do. And he didn’t want to hear how Molly was doing from anybody else except for Molly herself. 

While he waited to leave the States, he did a lot of thinking about his arguments with Molly and later on with Jane. He realized something that he had known all along in the back of his mind but just hadn’t wanted to admit to himself.

He was in love with Molly Hooper. 

He hated that somebody other than himself was right, he hated that he was wrong. He hated that he was going home to almost nothing and that Molly was going to serve him with annulment papers. He hated that for the first time in his life, he really had no idea what he was doing. He was the floundering fool in all the movies that he despised. The romantic hero who didn’t do anything better with his time but rescue girls from themselves and whisper sweet nothings into their ear while a sappy soundtrack played in the background. 

Sherlock sighed and looked out at the ocean view. He would come up with a plan and if he had his way, in a short amount of time, Molly would be his wife in more than name only. All he needed to do was pluck up the courage and act out on his newly awakened feelings.

.

“Teresa.”

“Jane,” Lisbon answered, pressing the lobby button and smiling flirtatiously at him. “Are you going my way?” 

If you’ll let me, Jane thought. It had taken a couple of days, but he’d finally realize that Sherlock Holmes was right. He was head-over-heels in love with the girl that he liked to stand next to. Unlike Sherlock, he was big enough to admit that he was wrong though. So, he had plucked up the courage to tell Lisbon exactly how he felt.

“Patrick?” Lisbon asked, nudging him gently in the ribs. 

His heart leapt at the use of his first name. He took it as a good sign that she was using his first name; it was a little ray of hope that he captured between his heart and his soul, and ran with. “Yes,” he finally answered. “Yes, I am going your way.”

The smile on her face told him that she knew exactly what he meant. 

_The End_


End file.
